


candles burning

by Weboury



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: (lots of it), Competency, Gen, POV Jaime Lannister, Pining, Post-Canon, author knows nothing of Westerosi politics, dashes are joyfully overused, watch me handwave canon as it passes by
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weboury/pseuds/Weboury
Summary: During the Long Night, Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth came together in more ways than one, and the battle against the Others was won. Now, he hasn’t even spoken to her in five years, not since he was forced to part ways with her, and Brienne returned to her rightful place as Tarth’s heir. But when Brienne must leave her home behind and asks for help, Jaime answers.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 60
Kudos: 108
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeeThemFlying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/gifts).



> Happy holidays, SeeThemFlying!!!! 
> 
> Here it is, your gift! 🎉🎁🎊
> 
> I thought it was neat that you and I both had Nick Cave’s [“Into my Arms”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnHoqHscTKE) in our JB playlists, and I drew inspiration from that for this fic (the title, you’ll recognize, comes from it too). I also tried to include some of the other elements you listed, and I really hope that you like it 🥰
> 
> Also I’m sorry I’m a little later posting than I wanted, life is getting in the way and I will likely finish posting after Jan 1st. But it will get done 💖
> 
> Thank you to jencat for beta’ing this for me and cheering me on, and to PrettyThief and aliveanddrunkonsunlight for holding my hand. It takes a village 😂
> 
> The “Prologue” is in Brienne’s POV. The rest will be in Jaime’s. 
> 
> This is a story about pining. Enjoy!

Tarth hated the Long Night. 

When the darkness had eventually reached them, the dead had risen from their ossuaries, spilled out from rock and sea, unexpected like snowdrops in winter. Crops had waned and withered. People had fought and starved as they tried to fish for confused creatures that had never lacked the sun before. 

Boys spat when the Long Night was mentioned, girls wrinkled their noses and swore against it. Men and women hissed in distaste at the merest hint of it.

All of which made Brienne wonder why they liked hearing about her part in it so much.

“My lady,” the cobbler pointed at the Valyrian steel she kept above the mantelpiece, below her father’s blade. “If it please you, my lady. Is that really it?”

The cobbler’s wife elbowed him in the ribs, and he turned to glower at her. The pair of them were barely grown, if Brienne was any judge. They were whispering angrily amongst themselves until she cleared her throat, capturing their attention again.

“It is.”

The cobbler grinned with admiration. “Are the stories true, then?”

Brienne blushed. “Stories have been greatly exaggerated…” 

“My lady,” the cobbler’s wife spoke softly, gathering her courage. “If it please you. Did you kill many of those monsters with it, my lady?

“I did,” Brienne admitted, turning her attention back to the contract on her desk. “It’s Valyrian steel, one of the few weapons that work against the Others.”

A soft “Oooh” escaped the cobbler and his wife. He gave a step forward. “Did it light up with fire?”

“Deacon!” his wife hissed. 

He ignored her. “Is it a magic sword, my lady?”

Brienne’s blush deepened. She turned slightly so she could look at Oathkeeper on its perch. It was in a new, more humble scabbard, so it seemed less dramatically imposing than when she had first seen it, but her chest tightened all the same.

“Yes,” she admitted, signing the contract and adding her father’s seal. It was unseemly to use the hall as a study, she knew, but it had proven to be efficient, and she thought no one minded much. “It lit up in flames—of its own accord—during the battles at the North.” Having no page to assist her, she stood from the desk and handed the contract to the cobbler. He and his wife were both smiling, looking from the sword to her and back again, as if waiting for something. “But, uh, it doesn’t do that any longer.” 

Disappointment washed over their faces, and a soft chuckle came from a corner of the room. They proceeded to blush, bowing to Brienne with reverence and to the man sitting there. 

“Thank you, my lady,” the cobbler hurried to say. “Thank you, my lord. I am grateful you have given us the honor.”

“Your family has served ours for generations,” Brienne nodded back. “We’re confident you’ll do an excellent work with our garrison.”

They dissolved into thank yous all the way to the door. When it closed behind them, the hall stood silent. Brienne inhaled deeply, and turned around to face her father.

He stood from where he had been slouched on the large chair, stubbornly limping his way over to her. His leg was twisted where it had mended wrong, and the cane in his hands was worn with use, but Brienne reminded herself that he was much better now than he had been before.

When she had first returned, five years prior, his cheeks had been hollow, his knee and chest wounded from the fight against unspeakable things. He had aged so much in the time she’d been gone. She’d seen in his blue eyes—so much like her own—that he thought she had suffered, too. But now, in the hall, they looked at her with amusement. 

“They always want a demonstration, don’t they?” Selwyn Tarth spoke around his short breath, reaching the desk. 

Brienne looked down at her hands, rubbing them. “They are always so curious...” 

“Naturally. It’s a pity we never saw it.”

Brienne glanced up, frowning at the strange inflection in his tone. He was looking at Oathkeeper with narrowed eyes, inspecting its worn and darkened pummel with a sense of wonder.

There was a pang of guilt in her stomach. There was so much he could never understand about that time. Oathkeeper had been a glorious sight indeed, when it lit up the night with its blue flames. It had been as if it begged to sing in her hands; as if it was eager to do what it had been made to do. Brienne had never felt anything like it before. But it had also meant death, constant and inevitable. When the war had been won, and the flames had stopped, she’d been so relieved… And then everyone started asking about it. On the road, at inns, in septs, bathhouses, everywhere she went. They all wanted to lay eyes upon it—a weapon of dawn, a warrior of the Long Night. 

She hadn’t ever been able to explain the whole truth of it, not even to her own father. An honor and a burden didn’t begin to describe it. 

“Yes, it’s a pity,” she answered truthfully. “I wish you could have seen it. It would have made you proud.”

“Speaking of pride…” her father turned again, and with effort took the seat she had occupied the whole afternoon. He winced as he dropped on the chair, old wounds pinching him anew. 

Brienne hurried to help him, but he held a hand up.

“Don’t worry, child,” he gave her a condescending smile and pointed with his cane to the other chair across the desk. “I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Brienne obeyed with a frown.

“Are you all right, Father?” she whispered, her chest tightening once more. “Is there something... bothering you?”

“I asked to sit in on your meetings today for a reason,” he gestured at the piles of papers, letters, and books on the desk. “I can see you’re doing well. Better than me, I’ve been told.” 

That much was true. With the Dragon Queen demanding constant reports, Brienne had needed to take on her part in the Evenstar’s work sooner than she had expected, and had gradually taken over most of it. His recognition made her hunch her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Father.”

“That’s good, Brienne, that’s very good,” her father nodded solemnly. “But it’s only convinced me we must discuss another issue.”

“My lord?”

“Your betrothal.”

Brienne gaped at her father like a fish.

“Excuse me, Father,” she shook her head. “What betrothal do you speak of?”

“The one you don’t have,” her father sighed, studying the shelves where more books and papers were stacked.

“So you haven’t... arranged one yet,” Brienne whispered, relief creeping into her voice. 

He raised an eyebrow. “No, not yet. I know how you feel about matches. I thought I’d discuss it with you—before you threaten to break anyone’s bones again, that is.”

She looked down at her hands in shame. He hadn’t mentioned any of this in the past five years. She was beginning to hope it would be enough for him, simply having her back, and that she may be spared answering questions again… Questions about—

“The sword,” her father said, groaning as he rearranged himself on the seat. 

Brienne’s ears heated up instantly, and she fixed her eyes on the letters in front of her, the now familiar scribbles of allies and traders staring her back. 

She heard her father click his tongue at her silence.

“It has a Lannister motif.”

“It was remade by the Lannisters,” she replied, not raising her face from the letters. “I told you this already, Father.” 

“I never did ask...” her father whispered, and there was a timber to his voice that made her flinch. “I suppose I thought it didn’t matter.”

“Pardon me, Father,” Brienne swallowed, but looked up. “What do you mean?”

He wasn’t looking at her but out of the window, into the afternoon sunshine.

“We heard stories,” he said, speaking his words carefully. “Before the Long Night… and after. Some of them, some think, were true.”

“ _Some_ think.” Brienne looked down again, this time in anger. “Stories—” 

“Have you considered,” her Father interrupted her, “that Evenfall will need an heir?”

“I _am_ the heir.”

“Brienne…”

Brienne’s gaze snapped back up. He watched her with so much pity she tasted bile in her mouth.

She had always been aware of the fact she had returned empty-handed from the wars, with a blade that had never been meant for her and a long trail of tales at her back. They had called her all sorts of names, even back then, at the end of all things… a whore, a fool, a broodmare. She hadn’t been any of those things, but she had been Jaime’s.

The memory prickled at her eyes, and she closed them. 

She had loved him, simple as that. It was an ache that had nestled deep into her core and never truly left her. He had loved her too. He’d said so, and she’d believed him.

They had talked about it—about so many things—in the dark, keeping each other warm. Dreams and fears, even the ones she had told no one about... And when it had all been won, and she whispered to him Tarth could be his, too… His smile had faltered, and then he wept. He had wept but still said it.

“Brienne,” her father repeated. “Do you understand me, child?”

Jaime had said no, and it had broken something in her.

Steadying her breath, Brienne opened her eyes and looked into her father’s. “I understand.” 

“I will not force you,” he rasped. “I have never forced you into anything. But providing an heir is your duty. I raised you to know what duties you’ve foregone, if you choose to forego them.” 

The chair scratched against the stone and she was standing as tall she was, her hands curled into fists. 

“I haven’t made that choice, Father.” 

“Brienne,” he raised a pacifying palm. “I understand if you… acted on any affections. I truly do. But that changes everything, as these things go. Arrangements need to be made, discussions must be had. Letters sent.” 

“Letters,” Brienne shook her head. “Who would you send letters to? The lands are—”

“Recovering,” her father gave her a small smile. “There’s plenty of new lordlings to choose from. It’d be an advantage for them to have Tarth, too.” 

“An advantage,” Brienne scratched her boot on the floor. “Certainly.” 

Selwyn Tarth heaved his most patient sigh. 

“Is that a yes, Brienne?” 

“I hoped…” she bit her lip. “I _had_ hoped, if it please you, for me to arrange my own betrothal. When the time comes.” 

“My child,” her father chuckled and supported himself on his cane to stand up. “The time has come. And I shall do this for you again.” He looked her in the eye, with all the kindness he had in his gaze. “I promise to find someone you’ll like.” 

Brienne nodded, whirled, and dashed out the door. She crossed corridors and stairs, muttering to calm the anger building up in her.

It was unfair, of course. And there was no doubt that an allegiance would benefit the island. But after seeing death on the face, after fighting to an inch of sanity, to the brink of desolation… A growl escaped her. 

She realized she had reached the courtyard, her hands itching for a sword, but the afternoon labors were taking place, and a couple of heads turned her way to greet her. She turned again, wanting solitude, and made for the tower. 

She should have grabbed a tourney sword, she mused as she climbed some stairs. At least with a sword she could try to break some bones, if she found anyone willing to spar. 

A sob died in her throat, and she was suddenly filled with shame at the truth that her father still thought of her as she had been almost ten years before. A mismatched, ungainly thing of a girl who hadn’t known much of anything.

Maybe she should have explained herself better to him, but she had never known how to relate the memories from that time—the maids who had nursed her when she had dropped exhausted to the snow—young Pod, using a shield to protect her from a wight—men and women throwing themselves in front of creatures no one ever dreamed of, to protect their children—and Jaime, always Jaime--holding his ground by her side, giving her sweet kisses, whispering her name in the dark like it was a long-lost prayer…

She dropped against a wall, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She still loved him. Foolish, idiot girl that she was. She still wanted to marry for love.

“My lady,” Pod cut a slim figure as he dashed through the corridor towards her. She wondered how long he had been chasing after her. “My lady!” 

She sniffled and stood up, forcing a smile for Pod. She dropped it when she noticed his worried look.

“What is it, Pod?”

He reached her and took a moment to catch his breath.

“I am so s-sorry, my lady, but a sail’s been spotted t-to th-the east.”

That wasn’t a good sign—Pod didn’t stutter these days unless he was nervous. 

Brienne frowned and began a brisk pace back to the hall. “Foe?”

“Yes, my lady. Pirates.”


	2. 1: walk down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the delay, and extremely grateful for everyone's support 💕

Jaime dropped to the bench with a huff, glancing lazily about the hall. 

Like him, other soldiers and nobles waited for their names to be called into the throne room. Most were either very young, showed obvious signs of battle, or appeared to come from outside Westeros. Sometimes, they were all three, which would have been unthinkable in a different time.

Jaime pitied their confused faces. For five years he had seen this new generation of nearly improvised leaders trying not to clash against each other as they navigated the world of the Reconstruction. That’s what the young Queen called it, the Reconstruction. 

It was just one of the many things that had changed with the war of the Long Night, up in the North. For a start, it had shown Jaime magic was real, an affront he had never quite been able to forgive. It had also ravaged Westeros. He’d seen better than anyone the dubious spoils and scars everyone bore. And, in the most unexpected turn of events, it had put a Targaryen back in the throne. 

If he hadn’t been so busy being tried for treason at the time, he would have laughed. 

The young Queen had been gracious enough to acknowledge Jaime attacking King Aerys a lifetime ago had been an act of treason against Aerys, not herself, and that it had been for a good reason. Jaime had been surprised at first when the Queen took his word for truth, had even seen some compassion in her eyes when he retold what he’d witnessed; had seen anger when he recounted what he’d heard. 

She had gone as far as recognizing that he had been pardoned of that particular crime by the king that came after—but that had not resolved the question of his loyalty, seeing as he had knowingly cuckolded and fathered the children of the very same king who forgave him… Among other things.

She had warned him of her intentions before the actual trial took place, and called it a kindness. 

Then, with a quirk of her eyebrow, the young Queen had stripped him off his sword and titles, officially removing him out of the Kingsguard, from any potential claims of lordship, from his command of the Lannister troops, and from his knighthood, for good measure. And then she had given him the work of a commander, a lord, and a knight, and set him loose in Westeros with her own army and envoys, to establish the order and relations needed during her reign. 

She said that after he did this, he would be free to do as he pleased; that he would have proven his loyalty. 

As if loyalty wasn’t a two way deal; as if he would have anything that was his by the end of his service.

Sitting down in the corridor, watching the lordlings and small folk cautiously eyeing each other, he knew he’d been right. 

Even about the worst of it.

At least—he swallowed—at least he hoped that Brienne had gotten used to this sort of thing. The meetings, the reports, speaking up among her peers, all that had made her uneasy when she had commanded during the Long Night. The last he’d heard, though, Tarth was still thriving as expected, so perhaps Brienne had been spared most of the young Queen’s most boring demands. He really hoped she had. 

Jaime placed his helm on his lap and tapped its Targaryen sigil, then adjusted his purple neck piece with an annoyed huff. Five years he’d worn the damn things; five years it had taken him to do as she demanded, but at last he was delivering the last report he ever needed to give to the young Queen. He couldn’t wait to get rid of them.

“Jaime Lannister?” a young voice said at his side. Jaime turned to see a girl no older than twelve holding a thin stack of papers tied in a bow. “Lord Tyrion asked me to deliver your correspondence in person. He says it’s important.” 

The child shoved the letters in his good hand, bowed, and left without any more pleasantries. 

Jaime readjusted his helm so he could use the interior to hold the letters as he inspected them. He didn’t have stable lodgings in King’s Landing—or anywhere else, for that matter—and Tyrion had offered, on the grounds of privacy—and probably a dose of guilt—to keep safe the few personal letters that arrived for him at King’s Landing. 

As he went through them, it occurred to Jaime that the important letter might be news from his cousin Joy. That brought a smile to his face. She had promised he could visit when—

Jaime’s jaw dropped. 

There, half hidden between the other papers, was a small, crumpled letter.

It had the Tarth seal.

Jaime blinked, licked his lips, took a deep breath. He had to forcibly still his hand to bring the letter before his eyes, so he could make sure he wasn’t tricking himself. 

The paper had been folded many times to allow it to be carried by a raven. The size had only allowed for two tiny initials, J.L., in a corner. Extended, it had his full name. 

In Brienne’s handwriting. 

Jaime’s breath caught. He hadn’t seen her penmanship in five years, but long before that he had watched her scrawl letters and documents for nights on end, in candlelight, as he helped her compose them. He would know it anywhere. 

Elation quickly gave space to dread as a dozen reasons behind that letter flashed in his mind. Placing the helm to one side, he held the small paper on his knee with his stump, and fumbled for a knife to pry it open.

“Jaime Lannister,” someone at the large door called. “The Queen will see you now.”

“A moment,” Jaime replied distractedly, controlling his trembling fingers for the task.

“Pardon me?” 

The horrified tone in the page’s voice made Jaime look up. The page, the nearby guards, and the woman sitting next to him all looked as if he had spontaneously grown another head. 

Jaime clicked his tongue. “Uh...” 

“Jaime Lannister,” the page repeated, slowly as if he was an idiot. “TheQueen will see you, _now_.”

“Seven hells,” Jaime scrambled to his feet, buckling his knife back in place. Then he saved Brienne’s letter into his pouch, and picking up the helm, followed in.

Regardless of who had sat the throne, whenever Jaime walked in he still half-expected to find dragon skulls and the smell of charred meat. None of that waited for him as he approached the Queen’s new marble seat, surrounded as she was by many servants and a handful of soldiers. But he was extremely aware that her colors were on display across the room, her sigil on every banner. And that he, in the center of the room, matched prettily with her dress.

“Jaime Lannister,” the Queen saluted him. She had grown plenty in the time Jaime had known her, but she always said his name the way she’d said it the first time they met, in a field covered in snow. 

“Your Majesty,” he bowed. A trickle of sweat slipped from his temple to his beard. “You have summoned me.”

“Yes,” the Queen nodded. Then, pointing at his helm. “I see my Hand has given you your correspondence already.”

Jaime glanced down at the messy array. _Fuck._

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he shifted the helm to hide it from view, aiming for a light tone. “The messenger caught me unawares and I had nowhere else to put them.”

“Have you read them already?”

Jaime hesitated. That was an odd remark.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said with caution. Then he smirked. “I needed an extra hand to open them, and no one offered.” 

“Hmm,” she nodded. “It makes no matter,” her tone turned solemn. “We have issues to discuss.”

And _that_ wasn’t a good sign. 

Jaime cleared his throat. “We do?” 

“Yes. But first, your report.”

So Jaime gave it. Negotiations had been finalized with the lords who still had qualms about their military forces, treaties had been rewritten and delivered with the new agreed terms for several terrains, and he’d made sure the new lawful proceedings had been understood by at least someone in the households whose lords hadn’t learned it yet. 

As he spoke to the Queen’s icy face, his mind kept drifting to Brienne’s letter, growing heavier by the moment in his pouch. If he was forgetting something, the Queen would have to content herself with the actual lord commander of her forces filling in any gaps. His chaperone was several years his junior, and after all that time traveling the roads together, Jaime left him as well trained for the position as he had been willing to be taught.

“The seven kingdoms are thus unified, Your Majesty,” Jaime concluded. “I have done as you tasked me.”

Danaerys Targaryen hummed. “You have.” 

He waited. And waited. And waited so long, that he shifted the weight on his feet.

“Your Majesty,” he swallowed. “I _have_ done as you tasked me. May I enquire if this makes my dismissal official?” 

“Do you want to return to your letters, that you seem so quick to leave?” the Queen inquired, and a pleased murmur ran through the hall.

“Your Majesty,” his own voice rose. “I—”

“Are you aware of the latest developments?” the Queen interrupted him.

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “What sort of developments?”

“Now that the seven kingdoms are at peace and prospering, eyes are turning their way here again.”

His stomach tightened surprisingly fast. “Another invasion?”

“Not exactly. Weeks ago, pirates were spotted cruising the waters of the East. They have been seen often since then, and my informants tell me there might be more behind those incursions.”

“That’s always a risk,” Jaime agreed. “Meet with your Master of War and Master of Ships at once, to plan how to exert better control on the Narrow Sea.”

“I was not seeking your counsel.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” He heard himself say, his apprehension threatening to turn into anger. Was she trying to play a game? She hadn’t refused his advice in a long time, even when she pretended she wasn’t interested in it. When she arched an eyebrow, he added, “Your Majesty.” 

She leaned back on the cushions of her marble seat, appearing as regal as she could through her steeled face.

“If you must know, I have already done as you said. I have requested help from the Stormlands, who are like to be attacked earlier, and therefore have a growing interest in this matter, along with the Broken Arm.”

Jaime clenched his hand around the helm. 

“Have there been attacks anywhere?” His voice trembled. “On Tarth?”

The question was out before he could help it, and a strange look came into the Queen’s eyes. 

“None that have been reported,” she replied. “But it’s curious that you should mention Tarth.”

Jaime swallowed. “Your Majesty?”

“Currently the Evenstar, who rules the island, is unable to answer my call. So his heir has acted in his stead.”

Jaime’s eyes widened like plates. He knew Brienne’s father was ill, but he hadn’t heard… Her letter sprang to his mind.

“Is Lady Brienne—?” he gave a step forward. “Is she meant to go to battle?” 

“If necessary,” the Queen acknowledged. “She has already left.”

“No,” Jaime gasped.

“Yes,” the Queen confirmed. “She replied to my call claiming her people may have had relations with the pirates’ brood before, that they may be simply impoverished islanders and that they may be negotiated with.”

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“Mayhaps,” the Queen countered, in the tone she might have used to swat a fly. “But I expect Lady Brienne to be loyal and do her best for the realm.”

Jaime bristled. “ _Of course_ she will. That doesn’t mean—” 

“It is done,” the Queen continued, clearly tired of his conversation. “If she believes she can prevent bloodshed, I will let her try it. She’s proved herself through her actions during my reign, as she did during the battle when life was won. But her assistance had a price.” The Queen beckoned a scribe to come forward. She approached with several parchments, a quill, and ink on a tray. The Queen took the largest parchment and unfolded it. “She claims that, given the Evenstar’s health, Tarth and Evenfall Hall cannot be abandoned at this time.”

“Of course not, that’s just one—” 

“Her condition was that she could designate any one she liked as the castellan.”

He groaned. “That’s the usual—”

“Jaime Lannister,” the Queen raised her voice. “She asked for you.”


	3. 2: some kind of path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh wow I want to be part of the exchange!  
> also me: *becomes [this](https://formerlyjannafaye.tumblr.com/post/184402881388/posting-your-fic-on-ao3-like)*
> 
> thank you for your patience 💖

She must have been desperate.

Every time he reread her letter, the realization hit him even harder.

> _Jaime,_
> 
> _I must leave at once. Tarth is in danger, and Father too ill. Please, keep them safe._
> 
> _Brienne_

“Keep them safe,” Jaime repeated to himself, looking up to catch a glimpse of the sea.

The late afternoon light was at his back, and it cast a golden glow upon Tarth as it became larger in the horizon. Mist had risen with the ocean breeze and it surrounded the beach and cliffs. It did not quite reach the mountains behind, its outline resembling the silhouette of a dormant giant.

It felt wrong. They’d spoken about coming to Tarth many times. Brienne would mention something in passing—a waterfall or the market—and he would say how much he’d like to see it all for himself, and they would smile because it was a nice fantasy to have, there in the winter nights. Now he was heading there before he had even set eyes on her again. It was wrong.

But she had asked him to.

_Him_ , of all people.

The request had surprised him so much he had nearly dropped his helm, right there in the middle of the throne room, eliciting a small smile from the scribe.

He had done his best to hold himself together while the young Queen insisted on reading the contract in full, as if there would be any deliberation about it. Jaime had signed for the castellanship at once, and had barely been able to stand idle a moment more.

Not even Tyrion, when they had said their farewells, had thought Jaime would choose otherwise. As Hand, his little brother had been forbidden from revealing too much of the Queen’s plans, so he had instead reminded Jaime of the overwhelming flaw in Brienne’s.

Jaime was a poor choice for a castellan. He knew it well. He had been raised to be a lord, certainly, but he had never, in truth, run a household, and he for sure did not know Tarth. But Jaime was also far too selfish to let the opportunity go to someone more suitable. Brienne had asked for _him_ , and he’d be thriced damned before he let that go. And thus, he’d left his brother and King’s Landing behind.

Jaime had of course hoped that, by now, Brienne wouldn’t have to turn to old acquaintances such as him. He had hoped she would have found someone who could be useful. Someone with connections or soldiers or at least a good sword hand. Someone who would have actually eased her difficulties somehow, someone who could be a true companion for her.

Instead, Brienne had asked for Jaime. And Jaime had nothing.

That had been the point, he thought bitterly. With a grunt, he began pacing up and down the deck, as if he could will the boat to go faster. That had been the _whole_ point.

He had nothing, and Brienne had dreams.

Even after all they’d seen and done in the Long Night, even after the times she had wanted to give up in the snow... Jaime could see them, all those things she had half-whispered to him in the dark. Simple things: the tides where she had learned to swim; her father, growing old in the lone castle; her people, whose fate was uncertain; her home, and what she wanted to fill it up with. They were written all over her, in the tireless swing of her sword, and the bravery she inspired among her people, and the gaze she held on him—on Jaime—when he least expected it, weakening his knees under its certainty.

And then the Targaryen girl had become the new Queen, and weighed his offenses against his deeds, and found there was still some use to have of him. Jaime had told himself he had been ready for it. That he hadn’t allowed himself to hope that there would be an after, not when the world was about to end, that he had only meant to fight as much and for as long as he could.

But it had been a lie.

Through it all Jaime’s only thought had been Brienne. Brienne and the promises he’d made. Brienne and her Isle of Tarth, her sapphire waters, her tender heart. Brienne, Brienne, Brienne.

There was plenty Jaime didn’t comprehend in this world, facing magic and death itself had taught him that. But injustice… Injustice was something he understood.

So he gave Brienne the only thing he could.

He gave her a chance.

He told her so, and then wept. And then wept some more, because he was too weak. She had tried to be strong for the both of them. She had tried to argue, make him see reason. She had wanted to face the new Queen’s dragons if necessary to pry him free, force a deal, something, anything. But he loved her too much to let her throw it all to waste.

So he’d said no, and his heart had just kept on bleeding ever since.

Jaime’s eyes stung in the salty breeze. He stopped to rub them with the back of his hand, and realized in his mindless walk he had been going in circles like a caged animal, and reached the same point in the deck where he had been standing at first.

It dawned on him some of the other passengers watched him with idle interest, whispering among themselves with amusement at the poor spectacle he made. Chastising himself, Jaime whirled and searched for a more private corner, lest rumors of the castellan being an old loon spread before he had even taken his position.

Leaning against some crates, he breathed deep. With Tarth closer and the mist dissipating, he could make out the castle and the boats that returned from sailing the Straits.

_Keep them safe_ , she asked in the letter. His fist curled around the paper still firmly held in his hand.

Brienne had always been like this, rousing his anger when she charged recklessly into the night, in the hopes it would deter the enemy from reaching those behind her. He had hated it. Hated it—and run after her anyway, shouting warnings until he could make it to her side, in the blue light of their swords.

No, Jaime told himself as he tucked the letter away in his satchel. It was no different this time.

Only now, she was also asking him to stay back.

* * *

The boarding ramp was laid and, gripping tight to his satchel and bag, Jaime finally descended onto Tarth.

The quay was larger than he had expected, dotted with boats of all sizes. Men and women busied themselves along the boardwalks, eager to finish their day and threatening to push him on their way. Passengers descended and were greeted by their families, and he watched as the crates were exchanged from one hand to another. Children pretended to do work as they roamed the crowd for a coin or two.

A surprisingly tall wooden fence separated the docks from the town, blocking all view from the bay. It extended all the way to where the beach became a cliff, and it showed signs of having been patched up before, but now it lay abandoned. Jaime glanced wearily at the sea, guessing the fence had likely been built during the Long Night to help Tarth hide from whatever awoke in there.

Suppressing a shiver, Jaime followed the swarm of heads along the walkway, seeking the entrance. It charmed him to see the docks were also rife in stalls and criers, with Tarthians offering meals and beds to those who stopped for a short while, or supplies to those who would only be there for a short while. Among the buyers he spotted merchants and sailors, fishermen and guards, and suddenly between the blur, a path cleared, and a round face smiled at him.

It took him a heartbeat, but when the young man began shouldering his way forward, Jaime’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Podrick Payne!” Jaime grinned, and found himself opening his arms.

“Ser Jaime!”

Without hesitation, Pod pulled him into a tight embrace, and Jaime had to blink away the memories that flooded him.

Despite Pod’s efforts during the Long Night, the squire had been but a child still, and from time to time he was overcome by fear or pain. When the terrors and howling were worst outside, Brienne had allowed him to sleep in their furs, tucked between herself and Jaime. Once or twice, the lad had even snuggled against Jaime’s chest in his sleep. Jaime had held him there every time, so Brienne could rest more comfortably, hoping he could keep the boy warm, if not safe.

On one occasion, Brienne had opened her eyes and found them so. It had occurred to him then that maybe she wouldn’t like her squire being coddled like that, but she had simply nestled closer, a small smile in her lips, and gently kissed Jaime’s eyebrow.

It had drawn all the air out of him.

It had also made him fonder of Pod, which, Jaime was realizing just now, was something that had stuck.

Patting Pod’s shoulder, Jaime drew back, and the young man beamed up at him. Pod hadn’t grown too tall, but he looked healthy and strong; the worst of his wounds had healed well, and the beginnings of a moustache shadowed his open face. Jaime felt unduly proud.

“S-ser, welcome t-to Tarth!” Pod turned around to point at two palfreys tied to a post further up, near the gate. “One is y-yours. Well, it’s my lady’s, b-but she said you could use it. Was your t-trip well? No seasickness? My lady said she’d arrange your boat fare, were you charged? Do you have much baggage? You didn’t say in your raven, and I couldn’t get the c-cart because they needed it.”

The boy stopped to breathe and Jaime seized the advantage.

“This is everything,” he showed him the bag and satchel hanging from his shoulders. “It’s nice to see you, Podrick.”

“Oh,” Pod raised his eyebrows in surprise, but smiled again. “It’s nice to see you as well, ser! Allow me a minute and we’ll head back, my lord ordered me to bring his letters.”

Pod scampered off to run his errand, so Jaime entertained himself with inspecting the horses. They were good animals, well fed and cared after. Murmuring softly, Jaime extended his hand for them to smell, and then patted their necks. Pod’s was a regular brown, on the older side. But Brienne’s was a striking black filly, with a white star on the forehead that he scratched immediately, much to her liking.

_The Evenstar_ , he grinned.

“My lady calls her Gem,” Pod said with a smile as he returned with a bag. “She’s the prettiest in the stables, my lady chose her herself.”

“She has excellent taste,” Jaime agreed, and then gave him a pointed look. “With some minor exceptions.”

Pod blushed at his jest, and hurried to mount. “If it please you, ser. Follow me.”

Crossing the gate was a revelation.

Jaime had been expecting a quiet village, not the booming town he found himself riding by. Most of the houses and businesses along the roads did look like they had stood there since the First Men, some had even been half-carved out of the rock itself. But the constructions had grown one into the other, connected with corridors and ropes. Some of the folks bustling the area looked like they had been carved out of stone, too, tall and strong and with unnervingly familiar dour expressions that made Jaime smile.

Soon those expressions focused on him, though, as curious eyes recognized Brienne’s horse, and that there was a stranger astride her. Some noticed his stump, and heads turned to pass along the news.

It was hardly a triumphant entrance, but if Tarth hadn’t known the castellan was in the island, they surely did now.

The road took them south, with Evenfall Hall appearing immediately ahead. It was perched atop a cliff, overlooking the misty sea, like an old seafarer watching the horizon.

Even from this distance and in the dimming light, Jaime could spot where some of it had crumbled. Through the years, he’d seen the same problem in most of the smaller strongholds across Westeros, especially those that had suffered during the invasions before the Long Night. He had expected Brienne to have more than one reason to keep the pirates away, but this was certainly the most dangerous. He’d have to assess it all as soon as he could.

As they left the town behind, the slopes of the island also revealed themselves to be full of life, with farmers and fishermen returning for the night. From the steeper hills, Jaime could see fires lined up along the beach, the wind bringing the smell of roasted fish and the faraway laughter of children.

On the way, Pod pointed indistinctly at people and paths and fields, chatting happily about anything that came to his mind. His voice was full of pride whenever he mentioned Brienne, and how her work had improved the island in such a short time.

Jaime’s heart swelled. For years all he’d gathered from Tarth were mere snippets of news, and the lad’s babble cheered him more than he could say.

“It looks like it’s been hard work,” Jaime observed, pointing with his chin over his shoulder. “But it’s thriving.”

“It’s been good,” Pod agreed, and then his tone darkened. “Until now. My lady worries about an invasion and, with the Evenstar ill, it’s been even harder for her.”

Jaime hummed. “Tell me about him. How bad is it?”

“He gets tired very easily,” Pod said quietly, as they began their ascent to the castle. “And he needs help to take his walks. He uses a cane, you see, since the Long Night. Old wounds pester him all the time. And he angers when he can’t get his way, so he yells at you if you’re not quick doing what he wants. My lady says not to mind him, but when she said she was going to meet with the Queen, he, er—” Pod glanced at Jaime with chagrin, but he encouraged him with a nod. “He, er, it w-wasn’t nice. They fought. He d-didn’t want her to go, he said, especially not when, uh...”

Jaime frowned. “When what?”

Pod hunched. “I—It’s—”

“Whatever it is,” Jaime raised an eyebrow, “I can assure you I’ve heard worse.”

“My lady’s betrothal.”

Jaime stopped Brienne’s horse on the spot.

“Brienne’s betrothed?” he asked slowly, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Sh-she’s not betrothed yet, ser,” Pod hurried to clarify. “But the Evenstar is—is searching. For a suitor.”

Jaime swallowed, his heart racing. She hadn’t mentioned any of _that_ in her letter. Why hadn’t she mentioned that in her letter?

“I’m s-sorry,” Pod whispered.

_Of course_ she hadn’t mentioned it, he shook his head. She had barely had time to send it. It wasn’t as if it was any of his concern anyways, was it?

“Ser?”

Jaime closed his eyes for a moment to breathe. Well, he had _not_ heard worse, after all. Not in a long time.

“Are you all right?” Pod asked in a voice so thin Jaime turned to look at him.

The boy’s knowing gaze made Jaime want to kick himself again. His bouts of sentimentality were hardly worthy of a castellan, least of all one chosen by the lord’s heir herself. He’d have to be more careful with how he carried himself, especially at the castle.

“Yes,” Jaime forced himself to say, heeling Brienne’s filly into motion. “I—I hope it’s a good match. Did you hear anything else?”

Pod flustered. “I-I wasn’t eavesdropping, ser! I heard it because my lady asked me to stand by the door, in case she needed me.”

That made Jaime huff. “I’d never think otherwise. But _did_ you hear anything else?”

“H-he said some things. In anger, you understand. My lord was very upset when my lady said she was going alone.”

“What things?” Jaime almost stopped the horse again. “Wait, _alone_? She didn’t take her guards?”

Pod shook his head. “Only two squires, th-the oldest ones. Our garrison is needed here, she said, and the Queen would provide her with some soldiers.”

Jaime grunted, wondering if he knew any of them. “And she wouldn’t let you go, either.”

“I told her my place was by her side,” Pod nodded. “But…”

“... but she wanted you to stay, in case I didn’t come.”

Pod looked mortified.

“It makes no difference,” Jaime chuckled, warmed by the lad’s worry. “This is a delicate matter. She’d be reckless not to prepare for that possibility.”

“N-no, ser,” Pod shook his head repeatedly. “My lady said she wanted me here in case y-you needed a helping hand, ser.” Horror struck Pod’s face again. “I mean, if y-you need help, not a hand!”

“Oh.”

Jaime blinked, and then blinked again, ignoring the boy’s rambling.

So Brienne _was_ this reckless, he thought. She’d not only expected him to come, she was leaving him Podrick, too.

“It’s—” Jaime swallowed. “It’s all right, Podrick.”

“Are you sure, ser?”

No, Jaime wanted to smile. And, yes. He simply didn’t know how to feel about it. Her father. Her island. Her horse. Her boy… An honor and a burden didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Sorry, ser, I keep—”

“Podrick,” Jaime extended his good hand and grasped Pod’s shoulder, bringing the boy’s eyes to his. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Pod gave him a shy smile.

“You’re very kind, ser,” he said, adjusting himself in his seat. “But Pod is enough.”

Jaime looked up at the dark shape of the castle. It was dusk now, and some lights shone through the windows, beckoning them on.

“About that… I’m sure you know, but I’m no longer a knight. There’s no need to call me by any titles.”

“I’m sorry, ser. B-but I can’t call you anything else. It wouldn’t be p-proper.”

“Proper?”

“Y-you’re owed respect.”

“I—I—” Jaime’s words faltered. The damn boy kept delivering blow after blow. “Thank you, but I… I can’t call you just Pod either, can I? You are _Ser_ Podrick, last I heard.”

“For two years now, ser,” Pod said with pride. “The Queen knighted me when I came of age. Others, too. For our services during the Long Night, and after. There was a ball and everything.” He turned excitedly to show him the pin on his cloak, which Jaime couldn’t really see in the dark. “We all got this as a distinction.”

“Very distinguished,” Jaime said anyways, much to the lad’s delight. “More than deserved, too,” Jaime added in earnest. At least the lad had gotten _some_ recognition. He alone had done more by the age of 13 than most knights had done in a lifetime. “What did Lady Brienne say about it?”

“That I earned it,” Pod beamed. “And…”

“And?”

“That I was knighted only a year after the youngest knight that was ever knighted,” he said softly. “For far more important deeds. That I could always be proud of that.”

In the silence that followed, Jaime couldn’t help a smile.

* * *

The Evenstar was waiting in his hall.

The roaring fire behind him framed the large wooden chair in a way that revealed his imposing height and girth. They had moved a desk into the room, along with bookcases and chairs that scattered around it. Lord Selwyn had also brought in a couple of his guards, which stood on either side of his seat.

_He knows how to make an impression_ , Jaime acknowledged. He glanced at Pod, who audibly gulped, held tightly to the bag of letters, and stepped a little aside, indicating he’d stand by the door until he was called.

Jaime nodded, took a steadying breath, and strode the length of the hall to Brienne’s father.

This was far from the way he’d ever imagined meeting the man, even if his mood was what he’d always pictured it would be. There was something striking in his scowl, something of Brienne in his stubborn face. Jaime told himself the Evenstar’s housestaff had been few and disdainful, and that that sort of personality wouldn’t survive here if Lord Selwyn was as threatening as he made himself appear.

But Lord Selwyn was dangerous in a way that scared him far more.

There was no way for Jaime to know how much Lord Selwyn _knew_. Negotiating a marriage was a delicate act to balance at the best of times, and Jaime could only wonder how the Evenstar would react if he learned the truth. Not that the truth was hard to learn—neither Brienne nor him had been subtle about the fact they were sharing a bed.

But that had been long ago, and far away from this world. After it all had ended—after _he_ had ended it—Brienne may have wanted to hide certain details from her father, put to rest the names and rumors thrown at her.

He hoped she had, for her sake.

Jaime stopped some paces away from Lord Selwyn. At this angle, the Evenstar’s head appeared crowned by the house’s sigil above the mantelpiece. Right underneath it, the lord’s sheathed greatsword hung on the wall, right above the empty space where, Jaime noticed with satisfaction, another sword belonged.

Oathkeeper, no doubt. Brienne had kept on carrying it all these years. Everyone remarked on it, whenever she was mentioned.

It must have shown in his face how pleased he was, because Lord Selwyn grunted, calling his attention back to him.

“My lord,” Jaime bowed his head politely, when he realized the Evenstar had no intention of acknowledging him. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“The Kingslayer,” Lord Selwyn drawled in a booming voice. “I wish I could say the same.”

_So much for politeness_ , Jaime sighed.

“My lord,” he began again. “I trust you know why I am here—”

Lord Tarth raised a hand to quiet him, then turned to the guards and beckoned them out. Looking over his shoulder, Jaime saw them closing the door behind them, Pod’s surprise visibly only for a second before the definite slam.

Jaime turned to Lord Selwyn again, whose gaze measured him up and down with disgust.

Perhaps he _did_ know.

“Did you wish to speak to me in private, my lord?” Jaime raised his chin.

Lord Selwyn clicked his tongue. “I certainly do. It’s not often Tarth gets a castellan while the lord is still in the castle, least of all one that no one had even seen before he came into the position.”

His voice quickly had turned breathy and slow, as if something pressed his chest. _Too ill_ had been a generous assessment on Brienne’s part.

“Of course,” Jaime trudged on in a confident tone. “Please, ask and I shall answer.”

“Are you really Jaime Lannister?” the man leaned forward in his cane. “ _The_ Jaime Lannister? The one who stabbed his king? Who fathered bastards with his sister, and lost all of them before the real war even began?”

Oh ho ho ho, there was _definitely_ some of Brienne in him.

“Yes, my lord,” Jaime swallowed, his jaw tense. “I am that Jaime Lannister.” He rummaged into his satchel and produced the contract, which he placed on top of the Evenstar’s desk. “These are my papers as proof, signed by the Queen and Lady Brienne both.”

“Hmm,” the man ignored the document and leaned back, trying to conceal a grimace of pain. “I expected something more, the way stories go on about you.”

“Stories,” Jaime raised his eyebrows, “have been vastly exaggerated.”

For some reason, that made Lord Selwyn laugh.

“Indeed.” Pointing at Jaime with his cane, he continued. “Was it stories, then? Or was it you who fought in the North with a flaming sword? Who gave my daughter Valyrian steel to match?”

Jaime’s eyes darted for a moment to the empty space above the mantelpiece.

“No, all of that is true,” he squared his shoulders. “I am also that Jaime Lannister. Though I gave her the sword long before it—”

“Are you, then,” Lord Selwyn leaned on his cane with difficulty, lowering his voice to a whispered growl, “the Jaime Lannister who, in the depths of the Long Night, took a liking to my foolishly besotted daughter?”

Jaime bristled.

“My lord?”

“Did you rid her of her honor, Kingslayer?”

“My lord!” Jaime barked through gritted teeth, in an effort to control his brimming rage. “My lord speaks too freely of his own daughter,” he warned, barely leveling the timber of his voice. “Mayhaps, in his pain, he forgets himself, and needs reminding.”

Lord Selwyn held his gaze, unafraid and unsurprised. He measured Jaime again, from the incipient curls of his head to the stump and the boots, loathing writ on every inch of his face. But when he glanced up, he also had a knowing spark in his eyes, as if...

Jaime had just proved the lord’s point, hadn’t he? His ghost hand flinched.

“You take offense easily, Kingslayer,” Lord Selwyn continued, in a calmer tone. “For someone who thinks stories are exaggerated.” He pointed at one of the chairs. “You may take a seat.”

“I will do no such thing,” Jaime growled, waving his stump in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know what game you think you play, my lord, but I will not have it. Lady Brienne is no fool, and she could never lose her honor.”

Lord Selwyn shook his head. “But she _was_ besotted, wasn’t she?” he sighed with regret, more to himself than to Jaime. “The poor child.”

Pity, Jaime realized. Her father _pitied_ her.

“My lord,” Jaime straightened himself to his full height and looked down on the Evenstar. “I fought by your daughter’s side while she commanded men against legions of the undead. Many were glad to bleed for her. Many _lived_ because of her, including me. She’s earned respect and admiration all across the Seven Kingdoms. Your daughter _is_ a hero,” Jaime leaned forward, “and I hope you know that.”

“That I—” Lord Selwyn’s face contorted in rage this time. “How dare you? How _dare_ you?” He tried to stand up, coughed and huffed like a bull as he fell back into his chair over and over.

Jaime very deliberately did not offer his help. When Lord Selwyn sat back in defeat, heaving and covered in sweat, Jaime made sure to have composure in his tone.

“My lord,” he began for the third time, exhausted of all the charade. “I am here to serve as the castellan of Evenfall Hall. It is my honor to accept the position.”

“Pretty words,” Lord Selwyn groaned, holding a hand to his side where it hurt. “Don’t you still reek of dragon? That Queen of yours just sent my heir needlessly away. How could I ever trust you to do as you say?”

The mere notion... Jaime laughed. A loud, sardonic sound that startled the lord.

“Is that what worries you, my lord? Need I remind you whose was the kingly back I stabbed? Loyalty is earned, as you well know. As per my word…” Jaime lowered his voice. “It was your daughter who invited me here. Trust _her_ , not me.”

Lord Selwyn opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again.

“The stories are correct on one thing,” he spoke after a while, his voice tired. “You are a loud-mouth, Kingslayer.”

“One of my many charms,” Jaime failed to hide the bitterness in his voice. He stepped back, relaxing his shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I do not intend to betray Lady Brienne’s trust. I will do as she asks, with or without your aid, my lord.” Jaime crossed his arms behind him. “I really do prefer the latter, though. Makes things smoother.”

Lord Selwyn squinted, growling in the back of his throat. Pod hadn’t been wrong about the man at all. Jaime ought to be sure to thank the boy.

“We Tarths honor our promises,” Lord Selwyn whispered, wincing with pain. “My heir has offered you roof and coin in exchange for your services, and I will not betray her word.” He fixed Jaime with a venomous stare. “You will _not_ cause us problems, and once she is returned to us, you shall leave, and never set foot here again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Jaime swallowed. _Better than you’ll ever know_.


End file.
